


To Never Fold

by Azphen



Series: to fold an ace [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, cayde loves his chicken, i dont know the first thing about tagging, i researched poker so i could try and make it accurate, this is from 9th grade and i still cant write so dont expect much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 06:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28466466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azphen/pseuds/Azphen
Summary: Hunters, often seen as the most “human” of the guardians, are known for pushing their luck. Cayde is no exception.
Relationships: Cayde-6 & Ikora Rey, Cayde-6 & Suraya Hawthorne, Cayde-6 & Tess Everis
Series: to fold an ace [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085276
Kudos: 9





	To Never Fold

**Author's Note:**

> I was in 9th grade when I wrote this two years ago, right after I finished the Forsaken campaign where Cayde dies. He was (is) my favorite character so this was kind of just my pathetic attempt to cope. It's pretty messy and I was too shy to post it until now, so… enjoy, hopefully?

“Folding isn’t an option, Hawthorne. You know this.” Cayde leaned over the poker table and slid eight more chips into the pot. _“Call.”_

Said table was stationed in an often unused room underneath the honorary guardian’s post in the Tower, blinds angled so only a little light could peek in. For dramatic effect. 

To everyone’s shock, Ikora had actually been the one who instigated it. Not only had she offered the idea of transforming the storage space into a makeshift breakroom in the first place, but she also gasped in horror and fixed the blinds up after realizing how damn _bright_ it would get in there. Despite her serious exterior, the woman always had a taste for drama— along with lighting to match. 

The first week, she’d scare off any guardians who tried to bring in candles so they could see after nightfall. She was just having fun, but eventually Zavala gave in to the guardians’ pleading and installed an old-fashion, damaged, yet charming wagon-wheel chandelier.

Nobody would admit it, but the guy actually _might’ve_ had a little bit of taste.

Just a little bit.

Cayde flinched, letting out a muffled curse as his head hit one of the chandelier’s lamps. Keeping eye contact with Hawthorne, he put up a hand to stop it from spinning then slowly sat back down.

“It’s an option to keep the price from doubling when I win,” she replied with a smirk. “Fold and pay half, or risk it and give me that prize.”

“ _If_ you win,” Cayde began, “emphasize the _if._ And that ‘if’ isn’t even an if. You’re going down.”

“Whatever keeps your gears going long enough to hand over the Black Spindle.”

Cayde huffed in reply. Him giving her the sniper rifle without a fight? Funny joke. “Best case scenario for you, you’re gettin’ the MIDA Minitool and the Cocytus scout rifle.”

“That’s best case scenario for _you,_ ” she retorted, scrutinizing her cards. “Make fun of Louis again and I’m taking the Spindle either way. I don’t doubt my bird saved the life of our little guardian prodigy when the City fell.”

The exo glanced between her and the middle of the table. Hawthorne’s back was to the window, causing her face to be shadowed; she almost looked like a criminal in hiding, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit exposed in comparison. The four existing community cards were a two of Clubs, a six of Diamonds, a nine of Clubs, and a ten of Spades. He couldn’t deny that the woman had an amazing poker face, but the split-second twitch of her lip as she placed down the fifth and final community card— a Jack of hearts— was an immediate tell, and it scared the shit out of him.

Cayde looked down at his cards, which contained an eight of Spades and a seven of Hearts. The best hand he could muster was a Straight. They were at a tie, each winning two games, and now it was all or nothing. The pot had over four thousand glimmer during this round alone, he knew that for sure, and it was ultimately Hawthorne’s doing.

“Raise,” she said, sliding ten chips into the pot.

Not a heartbeat after, someone knocked on the door then stepped inside without listening for an answer. The sliver of outside light cast across the room for a fraction of a second, then folded back in on itself.

Hawthorne looked up from the pile of chips, and Cayde turned to look over his shoulder at their visitor. A dark-skinned Warlock cocked an eyebrow at the exchange she saw at the table. 

“Hey, Ikora.” the Hunter greeted.

“Hello, Cayde. Suraya,” she nodded towards the other woman in the room. She was taken slightly aback at the sight of so many chips in the pot. “What are you two gambling over this time?” she asked. 

“Hawkeye here saw some new loot I got and now she’s tryin’ to scam me out of an exotic,” Cayde replied with a half-hearted glare towards his current opponent.

“Knowing you, Cayde, she just followed along with your antics,” Ikora supplied, followed by a snort from Hawthorne.

“I think Poncho disagrees. She started it,” Cayde retorted with a jerk of his thumb toward the woman in question.

Reverting to her all-business demeanor, the Warlock readjusted her amulet and straightened her collar. “Zavala said that you were due to be briefed in regards to a scouting mission along the outskirts of the EDZ. Devrim has reported multiple sightings of Fallen salvaging resour—”

“I know.” Cayde interrupted, turning back to his game with Hawthorne. “I sent a team of my Hunters to check it out and come back to me. And I’m already prepped for that patrol with Petra in the Tangled Shore.”

He could feel Ikora’s calculating gaze burning into the back of his head, but he was _really_ into the idea of ignoring that in favor of focusing on getting his bag of mod components and that sweet sweet official ownership of Colonel, the chicken he took from Hawthorne during his time at the Farm.

Then, Ikora strode over to the empty space between Hawthorne and him, stepping back to lean on the wall and get a full view of the table.

“Aren’t you gonna tell Zavala?” he asked incredulously.

She chuckled lightly, “No, you can do that. Besides, why leave and miss out on seeing how this round goes?”

Cayde shrugged in acceptance of her presence, then looked to Hawthorne. _To hell with it._

“Call,” he said lowly, staring her dead in the eye as he slid ten of his own chips into the pot.

Hawthorne’s eyes widened a bit at the man’s newfound confidence.

For a moment, they stared in hesitance. Then, within mere seconds that felt like hours, the two flipped over their cards face-up and slid them towards the five community cards so the other could inspect them.

“I’ve got a straight,” Cayde murmured absently as he leaned forward, just barely crushing his arms that had been resting on the table so he could examine Hawthorne’s cards. She had a Jack of Spades and a Jack of Clubs. His eyes zipped in between the community cards in the middle.

Three of a kind. So _that_ was what she was smiling about. Not rooted in confidence, exactly, but relief that she had a decent hand.

Ikora’s hum of surprise sounded like it was miles away.

Cayde collapsed back into his chair, causing it to lean back for a moment, then fall forward as the front legs of his seat hit the floor. He let his head drop forward into his arms, which were still resting on the table. “I won,” he wheezed in triumph. 

“Damn,” came Hawthorne’s voice. He lifted his head enough only to peek through the top of his hood— which was being held up by his horn, the rest of it drooping to cover the majority of his face— just in time to witness her gently bring the side of her fist down on the space next to where her cards rested. With a soft sigh, she extended her other hand halfway across the table. 

“Good game,” she said. 

Cayde’s eyes flicked from Hawthorne’s open palm to her face. The disappointment was clear in her features, but she was being a good sport about it.

He sat up straighter and paused for a second, working his jaw in thought. He didn’t know what pushed him to make the decision he did in that moment. Cayde wouldn't call himself selfish, both to protect his own self-image and because he wholeheartedly believed it to be the truth, but it was an impulsive decision and he felt a bit out-of-body as his mouth opened to form words. With a small smile, he reached over to meet her in a handshake. “I think we can negotiate something.” 

Her expression immediately lit up.

“We can figure it out after we clean up," he added. The Hunter could’ve sworn he saw Ikora’s head whip up from her small deck of bounties to stare at him.

They began stacking the cards. Ikora patiently resumed looking through her bounties to sell, tapping a foot as she murmured her thoughts aloud under her breath.

Cayde closed up the box, which was now full of cards. He set it in the middle of the table where the poker chip bag was waiting. Now, whoever came to play next wouldn’t be met with a mess.

Hawthorne was practically vibrating in her seat out of excitement, but there was skepticism in her eyes.

Cayde couldn’t help but snicker.

“What?” 

“Do you not trust me?” he asked. It wasn’t out of hurt, just genuine curiosity.

She stilled.

“Look… you’re a good sport, a great kid, and just for your peace of mind, when have you ever seen me use a sniper rifle?” he motioned to the holster that carried his prized hand cannon. “There’s no catch,” he added.

Hawthorne blinked. Cayde blinked back, and his mouth moved on its own.

“Well actually. Uh. Just add in a Prismatic Facet and I’ll hand it over.”

Hawthorne stared for a moment. “You know there’s no legal documentation for the chicken, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he said with a shrug. “At this point, we’re making a trade. I don’t need a receipt.”

She smiled, slow but genuine. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I already added its photo to my collections book, anyway.” Cayde reached over to where the Black Spindle was leaning against the side of his chair. It hadn’t crossed his mind before, but the barrel had been pointing a bit too close to his head for comfort.

Oh well. He had always been lucky.

Cayde twisted back to sit properly, letting out a soft grunt as he moved slowly to gently set the beautiful rifle on the table. The yellow glow from his mouth flashed against the inky color, disappearing as soon as it arrived. 

Still running his gaze across the gun from stock to muzzle, the exo suddenly spoke up. “One thing I hate is waste.” With each word, the yellow glow reflected off its metal. “Exotics are fun and all, but…” he looked up to where Hawthorne had stopped writing what was probably her best attempt of a legal document for Colonel. Interrupting himself, Cayde said, “Believe me, you don’t have to write anything for my chicken. It’s not like either of us are gonna want to trade back. And even if we did, like hell I’d let you have her.”

She thoughtfully stared at the paper. “Okay, that’s fair,” she murmured.

Cayde let out a quiet snort, and continued. “As I was sayin’… they’re fun to collect and all, but I’d hate knowing that such a beauty of a weapon sitting in one of my caches just to collect dust. Especially if Fallen were gonna steal it.” He muttered the last part.

With a final pat to the ejection port, he hastily slid it over to Hawthorne. “Have fun, kid.”

She immediately reached out to touch it, but stopped and brought her hands back as if it would shock her upon contact. 

Cayde cocked an eyebrow and looked between her and the gun. 

Then, she turned to reach into her bag that was hanging off the ear of her chair. After several sounds that seemed to be the rearranging of various items and a grunt of effort, she suddenly hoisted a cloth sack up onto the table. “Everything’s in there,” she carefully slid the sack over to him.

He blinked in surprise, and she gave him approximately a second to process the belongings’ presence sitting in front of him before shamelessly squealing and picking up the Black Spindle to examine it. 

Cayde let out a soft chuckle and quickly peeked inside to make sure everything was inside the bag— no more, no less. Then, with one more glance, he slung the sack over his shoulder, caught Ikora’s attention, and made his way towards the door.

“Don’t lose it,” he said with a final wave to the woman who was carefully slinging her new rifle over her shoulder.

The same moment his hand grasped the door’s sturdy handle, there was a loud creak and a thump. Cayde whipped around and saw Hawthorne sitting on the windowsill, legs dangling over the edge. “I won’t. Nice doing business with you, Cayde!” she called.

Right before jumping out of the window.

"Wh—"

The Hunter looked to Ikora, jaw hanging open. “Did you see that?!” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly to the curtains that were now blowing from the draft. “Th— _That—_ _does she know how big the Tower is?”_ he whisper-screamed.

“Good thing there’s catwalks to break her fall,” the Warlock noted, eyebrows still raised in mild shock.

Cayde puffed out an exhale. “Yeah, no kidding.”

_Because wow, holy shit._

He turned back, the door handle still lightly held in his grasp. He pushed it open and held it for Ikora, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight. 

“Looks like she has a flair for the dramatics, just like you,” she nudged her friend playfully as she passed him on her way out.

“Hey, don’t act like you’re not the one who made that room lookin’ like a fortuneteller’s hideout,” he teased, stepping out into the courtyard behind his fellow Vanguard.

Before Cayde could head off to spend his winnings, Ikora stopped in her tracks.

“Ikora?” he asked.

She turned around, raising her thoughtful gaze to look at him. “I just wanted to say that… I stayed longer than I normally would have because of what you did for Suraya. You didn’t have to do that, Cayde. It was really sweet.”

“Ah. I, um—” Cayde faltered, features contorted slightly from the sudden praise.

She raised her finger to silence him. “I’m not done.” Ikora’s expression, always stoic, melted to one of open fondness; vulnerability that she often didn’t show. “You’re the cockiest bastard I know, but sometimes… you don’t give yourself enough credit,” she sighed with what seemed to almost be a sad smile. “I’m due to return to my post. Don’t forget to speak with Zavala.”

Cayde, bewildered, watched her leave towards the Bazaar.

 _Where did_ that _come from?_

Still holding the bag over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Cayde leisurely made his way over to Tess Everis’s little shop. He leaned on the counter and loudly dropped the sack of winnings onto it so she could see them. “How much for a chicken cape?” he asked casually before Tess could open her mouth.

Her mouth gaped and closed like a fish for a moment. “I beg your pardon, Cayde?” she asked, brows furrowed.

“A chicken cape. Cape for a chicken. How much would that cost?”

Her mouth did that fish thing again. “Well, it would have to be specially made—”

“Perfect!” he interrupted. “So you can do it? How much to look like my cape?”

“... Is this a serious order?” she inquired, lips pursed.

“I’ve never been so serious about an order in my life,” he leaned in closer over the counter and struggled not to burst out laughing while he raised his right hand as if he was giving an oath. He _was_ serious, though. Colonel deserved to be pampered.

Tess stared for a moment, either judging or scrutinizing him. He couldn't tell. Once she deemed him as acceptable, she pulled out a clipboard and asked another question. “How much accuracy in comparison to your cloak?” 

“Uh…” Cayde rubbed the cloth of his hood in between his fingers idly, “Without the wear-and-tear? Same patterns and shape? Doesn’t have to be the same material, as long as it looks similar? Strong enough to hold up against the elements? Adjustable, maybe? Normal chicken size? Is, uh…” he trailed off again and gingerly held up part of his cape to look at it, “is that a good enough description?” 

She finally broke into a smile once she finished writing what he had requested. “With my work, your chicken will have an impeccable cape,” she said, looking up at the Vanguard who was practically invading her booth.

Cayde smiled back, standing up straighter and brushing nonexistent dust off his torso. He muttered a quiet “awesome” as he rummaged through his winnings and took out the prismatic facet and mod components, setting the latter to the side. “Those are for Banshee,” he clarified, glancing at Tess.

He slid the prismatic facet over to her and held up the sack. “This is full of compacted glimmer,” he said, setting it back on the counter, “I know you usually take silver or bright dust, but I figured this should be about enough.”

Tess promptly looked inside to see the pile of glimmer and lifted the sack to test its weight, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “It’s very heavy,” she noted.

Cayde eyed her in a way that hopefully said, _So…?_

Tess bit her lip for a moment as if she was choosing between having pork or beef for dinner. “It’s only sized to fit a chicken,” she said half to herself, shrugging. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Woo!” Cayde made a quick pair of finger guns at the mod components before snatching them up. “You need a reference of my cloak?”

Tess leaned a bit on either foot to get a good look of each side of his hood, then shook her head. “Mm. No. If I do find myself needing one, I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to find a newspaper,” she replied with a small smirk.

Cayde pulled out the Ace of Spades and twirled it on a finger. “Oh yeah, I’m always makin’ headlines with the cool sharpshooter maneuvers I pull out on the field,” he reached out with his other palm casted towards the sky, moving it slowly to his right to gesture to the land outside the Tower.

Tess raised an eyebrow, deadpan. Her lip twitched back up, clearly fighting a smile. “Yes, of course.”

“Yup. Maybe a little less sarcasm, though,” Cayde said with no bite, smoothly returning his cannon to its holster.

The conversation coming to a close, Tess checked the papers on her clipboard. “Come back in a few days and I’ll be able to give pickup information,” she said absently. 

He then backed out of the booth with a quick thank you and goodbye, casting a final finger gun with a wink over his shoulder at Amanda Holliday, whom had just successfully finished haggling Kadi 55-30 for salvageable ship parts in the lost and found. She returned the gesture with a laugh.

Making his way towards Zavala, Cayde patted the pack on his belt where the mod components resided. _I wonder if Banshee would appreciate a gift. I’m feeling like a giver today._

Before he was even three meters away from his friend, Cayde stopped. Zavala leaning against the railing to overlook the City wasn’t abnormal in the slightest, but the man looked tense. More tense than usual.

The exo took a few strides forward. “Zavala?” he asked, voice gentle.

The Awoken Titan whipped around.

“Zavala?” Cayde repeated.

“Why are you here?” Zavala asked, brows furrowed.

“Well, I was busy with Hawthorne so I sent some Hunters out to the EDZ to check up on the Fa—”

“No, why are you _here?_ The Fallen can wait. Did you not get the broadcast?”

Cayde stiffened. His ghost, Sundance, peeked out from behind his head. “What? What broadcast? What happened?” he asked, stepping closer.

Zavala’s pissed-off demeanor quickly changed to horror. “We must’ve gotten the intel on the riot at different times.” he opened his mouth to continue but stopped himself at the sight of Ikora sprinting towards them. 

“I just got the ping,” she announced after skidding to a halt.

Zavala grit his teeth. “There is a riot in the Prison of Elders. If left alone, the situation will prove to become catastrophic. Your time for departure has been moved from tomorrow to _now._ ”

“The timing is far too coincidental to send only you and Petra to the Tangled Shore,” Ikora spoke up, pausing to give Cayde a meaningful look. “Bring the Guardian as backup. I fear you will need it,” she added.

Cayde curled his hands into fists. “You’re telling me that _me,_ the person who’s supposed to _be there,_ is going to be the last one to know what the hell is happening?!” he blurted, throwing his hands out for emphasis as his head fell back in frustration. “You’re kidding!”

With a deep breath, Cayde shook his head and calmed himself. Internally, he wanted to scream. It was going to be nice getting out of the Tower and securing the prison, but he was left out of the loop _again._

Instead of further voicing his dilemma, he quickly dumped out the mod components for Banshee and, with practiced dexterity, wrapped them in a spare cloth that was meant as a last resort for wrapping wounds. He half-held out, half-tossed the bag to Ikora.

“Give these to Banshee and tell him they’re from his buddy Cayde,” he pleaded before turning around to hightail it to where his ship was stationed in the hangar.

“It’s not like you can’t give them to him yourself after you come back!” he heard her shout behind him.

Cayde twisted on his foot to face her while running, taking the short amount of time to pull out his comms radio so he could contact the Guardian on his way there. “You know how I like to push my luck, Ikora! Gambling is the gift that keeps on givin’!” he insisted, grinning as he turned the corner.

After all, folding was never an option.


End file.
